I tend to be a pessimist. Sorry. Such an attitude doesn’t reflect the high level of my faith. Issues like abandonment, lack of affirmation, too many trials conspire to knock down what I diligently build up. I’m constantly repairing those walls. By now it’s scut work. Like scrubbing toilets. These are old tapes played endlessly in my head, held in the background only sporadically. They steal my joy.

Well. Look at the current state of the world. She says. In truth, that state doesn’t rest on my shoulders. Yes, I dip my oar in and row the rapids when I can, but just as I didn’t cause the chaos, neither can I erase it. I can learn perspective and must. One hopes for glimmers of sanity, however rare. Watching just enough news to keep informed, turning off the telly with regularity and disgust, taking a walk, relishing a chocolate chip cookie, all function as effective tools to put the chaos at bay. There isn’t very much I can do anything about.

Like the weather. I sit in my kitchen with my morning cuppa and peer out at the young robin sitting low in her nest, sheltering her eggs. She leaves briefly twice daily to dig for worms, then dashes back to her duty.

I sip.

We’re very much alike. We wait for what’s next, hoping it will bring true spring. Just as I know she’ll be crazy busy in a few more days, looking tight around the eyes, wearing herself out feeding her brood, I know spring will arrive feeling more like summer, and my spirits will rise. I’ll do what you do. Tend the house. Shop for groceries….that which defeats my spirit… and enjoy the tender days to come when I can sit outside with a good book, snooze in the warming breeze, and marvel  yet again that my husband is right every year: here in Ohio spring is a laggard, running three weeks behind spring on Pennsylvania’s east coast, where home used to be.

I’ll plug myself into my head set and practice singing the second soprano part aloud on the deck while my neighbors look askance. They know I sing in a choir. Well. Second sop all by itself sung to the pond and the trees might sound like braying. It gives them doubts. Never mind. I’m preparing for our musical participation in the National Day of Prayer this weekend.

It’s Monday. I’m up for it.


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